


Nightmares

by phoenikxs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 07:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenikxs/pseuds/phoenikxs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the trek through the Red Waste, Dany battles with more than thirst and hunger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time it happens, Jorah thinks their perilous trek through the Red Waste is coming to an abrupt end. That it is all over. Hearing Dany's terrified screams, knowing he is too late to ward off her attacker, too late to save her, will stay with him for the rest of his life. He's never been so terrified as in this moment, when he is confronted with the possibility of a life without Daenerys Stormborn. But when he finally reaches her tent, panting, he finds her asleep. Although, asleep is the wrong word to describe her fitful turning, struggling, her anxious screams. 'She's trying to fight off an attacker in her sleep', he just has time to think when he hears her voice utter one word, and his world stands still. 

“Jorah.” He thinks he must have heard wrong, is convinced of it, when she starts talking in her sleep again. 

“Noooo, Jorah! Please, Jorah!!” 

His khaleesi, the queen of his heart, is having a nightmare and is begging him to help her. He is in her dreams! This is more than he can wrap his mind around at that moment, and he does the first thing that comes to mind, that feels natural. Kneeling down next to her sleeping form, he carefully touches her shoulder and tries to wake her from her nightmare. When this does not have the desired effect, his touch becomes a bit more self assured, and he whispers her name. 

This seems to calm her, and she turns towards him. Wanting to erase even the last traces of her nightmare, he softly strokes her hair, and keeps talking to her in hushed tones. At this, she turns to him more fully, trying to get as close to him in her sleep as possible, thereby tipping his precarious balance, causing him to end up sitting on the floor of her tent, her head in his lap. He tries to get up, her using him as a cushion was not his intention, is terribly inappropriate in fact, but as soon as he tries to put a more respectable distance between them, she starts to become restless again. Sighing, he resigns himself to the fate of playing cushion for his khaleesi. A small thing, in the grand scheme of things, and if it keeps her nightmares at bay, he's more than willing to sacrifice his sleep, and the comfort of his sleeping mat, to watch over her and guard her sleep.

**************************

The morning after the first time it happens will be forever imprinted in her mind as the quintessential perfect way to wake up. She can't remember feeling this content, happy, and most of all secure, ever before in her life. As she lingers between dream and real world, trying to hold on to this feeling, to soak it up and store it deep inside her heart, she notices two things. 

One, she's lying on a pillow, even though she's very certain the last time she enjoyed the luxury of a pillow was weeks ago, when her Sun and Stars was still alive, before they started this long, perilous trek through the desert. Two, there's a comfortable, warm weight on her head. Almost, as if someone was stroking her hair, cradling her head. This confuses her more than the inexplicable pillow, because she can't remember anyone doing that for her, ever. As much as she had grown to enjoy the company of her Dothraki husband, her late Dothraki husband, she corrects herself, he wasn't exactly the cuddling type. She forces herself to put all thoughts of Drogo out of her head, to not indulge in painful memories. 'If I look back, I'm lost'. 

A slight movement from the warm weight on her head pulls her out of her thoughts. 'So it really is a hand', she thinks. As this begins to sink in, her eyes fly open. There's someone in her tent, touching her! 

Careful and slow as to not alert the intruder, she moves her head to get a clear view of the culprit, and finds herself face to face with a sleeping Ser Jorah. Her eyes widen in surprise, as she takes in the sight before her. Jorah is sitting on the floor of her tent, her head cradled in his lap, one of his hands resting protectively on her hair while the other is stretched out behind him, keeping him from falling back. His head is tilted forwards at an awkward angle, but he seems to be fast asleep. As she takes all this in, trying to makes sense of this unusual situation, something is nagging her at the back of her mind. She can't quite place it, but she senses that there is something here she should be wondering about. 

Then it hits her. She still hasn't moved. Not because she didn't want to alert a possible intruder, she knows it's her knight now and not someone who wants to harm her. But because the sense of happiness and security she woke up to still hasn't abated. She feels content and protected in the arms of her bear knight. This realization startles her enough to sit up, trying to put some distance between them. At her sudden movement, Jorah jolts awake, instantly alert. 

“My queen”, he says in a voice hoarse from sleep, managing to make this sound like an address and a question at the same time. 

“What are you doing in my tent, Ser.” She means to sound self assured, aloof, maybe even mad at him for taking liberties, but to her ears only manages to sound like a confused girl. She hates herself for this, hates him for making her react this way, for causing these conflicting feelings, for making her feel exactly like she must sound. Like a startled, lost girl. 

If he notices her inner turmoil, he doesn't show it. He just looks at her calmly and tries to explain the situation. “You were having a nightmare, khaleesi. I heard you scream and hurried to your tent, only to find you asleep, caught in bad dreams. I tried in vain to rouse you from your sleep. My presence seemed to calm you, so I stayed.” 

Is it her imagination, or does he almost blush and look a bit sheepish at this last comment? She gives herself a mental shake. It doesn't matter how her knight looks. All that matter is that she is the queen, and it will not do for her to show weakness, or for anyone to think she needs to be protected from nightmares, like a little girl. She rises from the floor, holds her head high and makes herself look directly at Ser Jorah. 

“I am the mother of dragons. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I do not have nightmares.” With one last look at him, she turns around and leaves the tent.

Jorah is left standing in her tent, looking startled. After a while, his features soften into a small, sad smile. It doesn't matter how much his queen denies it. He knows the truth. 

She manages to avoid him all day. As she returns to her tent as night falls, she finds her knight has made his bed in front of it and is stretched out on his sleeping mat. Her intention is to ignore him as she passes him, yet her eyes are inexplicably drawn to his, and she is startled by the warm, almost tender look he gives her. As she settles down for the night inside her tent, a small smile plays on her lips. Even with him outside her tent instead of right next to her, her bear makes her feel safe.

******************************

Over the next days and weeks, the sight of Ser Jorah's camp outside of Daenerys' tent and of the knight himself guarding his khaleesi's sleeping quarters becomes a constant fixture. Noone seems overly surprised by the new sleeping arrangements. A knight must guard his queen. And if some wonder about the single-minded determination with which the Westerosi applies himself to his task, oftentimes foregoing his own sleep, never leaving his chosen spot outside the khaleesi’s tent, noone would ever think of questioning him or his motives. At least not to his face. However, there are whispered conversations, especially among Daenerys' handmaids, speculating about what might have occurred to bring about Ser Jorah's new sleeping arrangements, and about his motives. 

Irri is the most suspicious of the knight. “Jorah the Andal want dragons for himself. He waiting for opportunity to steal them from khaleesi.”

“What he want with dragons?” Jhiqui asks disapprovingly. “They no use. Only make noise, scratch and make fire.”

Doreah has a theory of her own. “Ser Jorah in love with khaleesi. It is known. There is love in his eyes when he look at her.” Jhiqui nods in agreement at this romantic notion and even Irri must admit that the looks Ser Jorah gives her khaleesi when he thinks noone is looking are laced with tenderness and longing.

“He waiting for khaleesi to mourn husband and then claiming her himself. That why he always outside her tent.” This is met with giggling approval by everyone. 

After the laughing and lewd suggestions of exactly how Ser Jorah might claim the khaleesi have died down, it is Irri who somberly points out “Khaleesi seem always tired. She miss khal.”

But Doreah won’t let her ruin what little fun they manage to have. “Or she don’t sleep because her bear keep her from sleep.” This sets them all off again, their merry laughter ringing out throughout the camp.

While Daenerys is unaware of her prominent role in her handmaids’ conversations, she does know they worry about her constant tiredness and haggard appearance. She always tells them not to worry, that her dragons keep her up at night. The truth of the matter, however, is that she's desperately trying to avoid her nightmares. Not so much because of the gruesome images in her sleep, of cities burning, children screaming, knowing someone is coming for her, trying to run, to escape but seeing only flames and blood all around her. She's been having these dreams for as long as she can remember, so she's used to them. No, she dreads going to sleep and having a nightmare, because she doesn't want to face Jorah. Doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of being right about the fact that she does indeed have nightmares, mother of dragons or not. 

But more importantly she is not sure she could bear waking up next to him again. The memories of that morning still haunt her waking hours, especially alone at night with only her dragons as company. What bothers her the most is not only that she can’t seem to shake these memories, can’t stop them from surfacing from the deepest recesses of her mind, but that, if she’s completely honest with herself, she doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to ever forget the feeling of utter contentment and safety, waking up in Jorah’s arms evoked in her. 

What troubles her most is her guilty conscience. Drogo has only been dead a few weeks, and here she is thinking about another man’s embrace. Even if she keeps telling herself she is not thinking about Jorah in that way, that he is just her knight, nothing more, that she doesn’t even find him desirable, she can’t help but draw comparisons. She never woke up in Drogo’s arms. He never stayed after taking his pleasure, that was not the Dothraaki way, so there really is no comparing the two. Except, Drogo never made her feel the way she did that morning with Jorah. And even though she pushes that unwanted thought out of her mind as soon as it surfaces, deep down she knows it to be true. Because she knows she has never before in her life felt this way before. 

And that might just be more frightening than her nightmares.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the trek through the Red Waste, Dany battles with more than thirst and hunger.

The second time it happens, Jorah is actually prepared. He’s been expecting this ever since he moved his sleeping mat outside of Daenerys’ tent. As he hears her terrified moans, he is instantly alert and quietly moves into her tent, already knowing what sight will greet him. Daenerys, asleep on her mat, thrashing, struggling, terrified, caught in a nightmare. This time, he isn’t surprised when he hears his name from her lips. He actually allows himself to feel a quick surge of pride that even in her dreams, his queen would look to him for protection, and doesn’t hesitate to kneel down next to her, gently touching her face and calling her name, trying to wake her, to free her from the horrible images in her sleep.

Whereas the last time, waking her up proved impossible, this time she awakes at once, her eyes flying open. He keeps stroking her hair, trying to calm her, giving her time to adjust and properly wake up.

“You were having another nightmare, my queen.”

At this, she freezes. Their eyes locked, he silently waits for her denial and is shocked when he sees defeat and acceptance in her eyes. With a sigh she looks away and sits up.

“I know. Thank you for waking me, my valiant knight.”

She looks at him once more, as if trying to gauge his reaction, looking almost amused at his shocked expression and how all he manages in response to her thanks is a brief nod. He was prepared to fight her, to get her to admit that even the mother of dragons can suffer from bad dreams, but her quiet admission and gratitude throws him, rendering him momentarily speechless. The ensuing silence is far from awkward, however. Sitting close to each other on the floor of Daenerys' tent, looking at her, trying to make out the reason for her sudden, but definitely not unwanted admission of nightmares, feels comfortable. Almost familiar.

“My own nightmares started when my lord father joined the Night Watch,” he finally breaks the silence. “In my dreams, I suddenly remembered all the gruesome tales of White Walkers, giants and wildlings I'd heard as a boy. The dreams have changed over the years and grown further apart, but I don't think I'll ever be rid of them.”

He can clearly see that opening up, admitting to his own nightmares, was not what she expected, as she is still silently looking at him, her expression unreadable. And now, with his own admission hanging in the air between them, the silence that was once companionable becomes oppressive. Just as he thinks it unbearable, doubting his decision to tell her one of his best kept secrets, fearing she will now think him weak, unfit to guard and protect her, her expression softens, a small smile playing at her lips.

“I thought bears didn't have nightmares.”

“How I wish that were true, my queen.”

The honest desperation in his tired voice startles her, wiping the teasing smile off her face, changing her expression to one of deep concentration, as if she was trying to solve a complicated puzzle. Finally, she looks up at him, a lost and insecure look on her face making her appear more like the young girl she is than the mother of dragons.

“But how …,” she trails off, glancing away once more. 

Gently, Jorah reaches out to touch her cheek, turning her eyes back to him, smiling at her encouragingly.

“What is it, Daenerys?”

He sees insecurity change to indecision and switch to determination, as she makes up her mind to give voice to the question that is so obviously on her mind.

“How do you live with the nightmares? How do you keep them from consuming you?” she asks in a tired voice that makes her sound far too old for someone so young.

Only when she leans into his hand, seeking warmth and comfort does Jorah notice he is still cradling her cheek, his thumb slowly stroking her. Their eyes locked, he can't help the words that are screaming inside his head from forming on his lips.

“By accepting help from the people who love you, Daenerys.”

Jorah's last words resonate in her mind, as she sits there, looking at him with wide eyes. Surely he doesn't mean... No, he is her trusted advisor. Her friend. Of course, he loves her. Like any knight loves his queen. But the look in his eyes belies her reasoning. If he truly only loves her like a knight loves his queen, why is there such longing and sadness in his look? And why does he seem to be blushing, if not because he said more than he intended to? 

When his look turns to resignation and he drops his gaze she realizes she has been staring at him longer than she intended, and the silence has turned awkward, which prompts her to speak the first things that comes to her mind.

“Who did you turn to for help when your nightmares came?”

He looks up at her, surprise written clearly on his face. She is not sure what kind of response he was expecting, but this clearly wasn't it.

“The only person who knew about my nightmares was my first lady wife. She would try to wake me up and sing to me, until I fell back asleep. Nothing in particular, just any song that came to her.”

A small smile forms on her lips at the image of Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island being sung to sleep. The smile turns to a frown, when she thinks of the reason behind the singing. The thought of her bear having nightmares so bad he needed the comfort of his wife's lullabies is unbearable, yet at the same time it is comforting to know someone as strong as her knight could suffer from nightmares as well. It somehow lessens the hold of her own bad dreams, which, she realizes, is exactly why he told her these very intimate details of his life.

“What happened to your wife?”

“She died in childbed. As did the child.”

She knew his first wife must have died. He had after all been married a second time. But for her to have died while giving birth to Jorah's child is oddly unsettling. She had never really thought about her knight's life before his banishment. How he once had a family, and would have been a father to the future Lord of Bear Island. How he had been sworn to someone else, belonged to someone else. As quickly as that thought surfaces in her mind, Dany banishes it. Jorah Mormont does not belong to her. Nor would she even want to own him. She is almost sure of that.

Forcing these confusing thoughts out of her mind, she thinks back to Jorah’s earlier confession. If he had accepted comfort and solace from his wife, this can only mean one thing.

“You must have loved her a great deal.”

“I did,” he replies, a sad smile on his face. Before she has a chance to examine her feelings about this short, honest answer, he continues.

“I loved and respected her as a friend, as someone I could spend the rest of my life with. But not as a man loves and desires a woman. My feelings for her pale in comparison to what I feel....” he drifts off, and once again can't meet her eyes.

Daenerys is not sure she wants him to finish his sentence, isn't sure she feels comfortable with where this conversation might be headed. Then again, if the swarm of butterflies in her stomach is anything to go by, maybe she does want him to continue? It seems that arguing these points is useless, though, because apparently Jorah was quicker than her and, while she was arguing with herself, has made up his mind. Determination written all over his familiar features, he calmly looks at her once more.

“It is very fitting indeed that you are now the only person who knows of my nightmares, Daenerys.”

Before her brain has time to process this last bit of information, Jorah, eyes never wavering from hers, determination still prominent on his face, reaches up to her face, cups her cheek and begins a slow, caressing movement with his thumb. This careful, gentle caress from her powerful knight, paired with the unmistakable look of longing, admiration, and love he is giving her, answers all her unasked questions. 

His last words were meant exactly the way they sounded. As was his earlier declaration. Her knight, her bear, loves her. Not as a knight loves a queen, but as a man loves and desires a woman. He is in love with her.

Her gasp of surprise is trapped by Jorah’s lips on hers. Once again Daenerys is surprised by his gentleness and restraint, and the softness of his lips. This isn’t the forceful, demanding kiss she’s been used to, this is something new entirely. Jorah’s kiss is light, tender, unassuming. As if he is waiting for her to make up her mind, to decide if this is something she wants. If he and his love are something she wants. He put it all on the line, opened his heart, offered it to her and in doing so put himself completely at her mercy. For the first time in her life, she is the one in control of her heart. She isn’t sold off to Jorah by a brother long dead, doesn’t have any obligations, anything to gain by accepting him. The decision is hers and hers alone.

The realization that Ser Jorah, her brave bear, has not only given her his heart, but this miraculous gift of choice, of free will, brings tears to her eyes, and a stab to her heart, so strong, she pulls away to get hear bearings. He is looking at her crestfallen, and only as he mumbles a quick apology and is about to get up, does she realize how her pulling away from his kiss must look to him. 

It is in that moment she realizes that Jorah Mormont leaving her, pulling away from her, is unacceptable. That the thought of being without her bear by her side, bereft of his company, his familiar touch, his embrace, and yes, his love, is something she does not ever want to consider.

He is already standing, about to turn and leave her tent, when she speaks up.

“Wait!”

He turns around, a hopeful look replacing the forlorn expression as he sees her smile and reach out for him. As she grabs his hand, pulls him down next to her and fixes her lips on his in a searing kiss, she cannot help but think how right if feels to be kissing him. Not only because he is an excellent kisser, tender and forceful at the same time, his tongue unhurriedly learning and exploring her mouth, but because this kiss is shared with him. Her bear. The one person who knows her secrets, who knows her. And who doesn’t judge her or think her weak, but lays open his darkness, his own secrets in return.

Here and now, protectively wrapped in Jorah’s arms, still kissing him, because she really does not want to stop, loves the feeling of his tongue sliding against hers, the feeling of his stubble against her fingers and cheek, she decides to let go. To break down her walls and accept his comfort. His love. To let herself be vulnerable with him.

And she realizes that Jorah’s love gives her the strength and courage to face her nightmares.


End file.
